


Believe the very best

by parkkate



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Bisexual Harry Potter, Deception, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Manipulative Draco Malfoy, Mildly Dubious Consent, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Oblivious Harry Potter, Pining, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Real Estate Agent Draco Malfoy, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-04-05 04:24:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19041070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parkkate/pseuds/parkkate
Summary: Draco tries to convince Harry he's the chosen one(Prompt: Can You Feel The Love Tonight, The Lion King)





	Believe the very best

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AkaShika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkaShika/gifts).



> Dear AkaShika,  
> I didn't plan on writing something for this fest. Then I saw your prompt :D I hope you like this very Slytherin side of Draco ;)
> 
> Endless gratitude goes to my wonderful, amazing, marvelous beta [Phoenix4Dragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix4Dragon), who always manages to save the day when I'm minutes away from deleting everything I've written :D Thank you so much for your help, your infinite wisdom and kindness. I don't know what I'd do without you ❤️️
> 
> And a huge thank you to the mods of this fest! You guys are the best! :) ❤️️

“Merlin, this is so boring.”

“You do realise you can leave anytime, right? I didn’t ask you to be here.”

“How charming, Potter.”

“Don’t you have someplace to be?”

“I’m right where I belong,” Draco grins and stretches out on the sofa, to which Potter snorts and buries his nose in the Daily Prophet again. He’s been ‘researching’ for the last hour while Draco tried his best to distract him. Unfortunately, Potter is rather… conscientious. “Oh, by the way,” Draco tries hard to sound casual, “how was your date last night?”

Potter grunts and shakes his head. “A disaster,” he grumbles.

“Oh? What happened?” He watches gleefully as Potter scrunches up his nose.

“She kept talking about her pet turtle as though it’s her lover. I don’t think there would have been room for me in that relationship anyway.”

Draco lets out a laugh that sounds genuinely surprised. He knew he could count on Eloise to freak Potter out. Draco sure was, every time she came around for tea. Being a member of a well-respected pure-blood family doesn’t save you from being socially handicapped, Draco supposes. Eloise has always been that way. And that turtle isn’t helping. She even lets that thing sleep in her bed. Draco would bet anything she told Potter as well. It was probably the moment Potter decided this wasn’t going to work out.

“Sorry to hear that,” Draco chuckles. “Luckily, I know a few other dapper young ladies who would love to make your acquaintance. Or a few blokes if you feel like changing it up a bit.”

That seems to catch Potter’s attention, although Draco can tell he’s trying to look only mildly interested.

“Go on,” Potter says.

Draco grins. “Michael Backford, went to Beauxbatons, two years older than us, plays for the Scottish National Quidditch Team.”

Potter keeps his eyes on the Daily Prophet and slowly nods. “Doesn’t sound too bad.”

“I’ll owl him right now. Are you free tonight?”

Potter looks up, his brows furrowed and his mouth set in strange line. “Why are you so eager to set me up with someone?”

“I’ve told you before, I’m just helping out a friend,” Draco shrugs. “Besides, I’m getting tired of watching you mope around. You’ll turn into Moaning Myrtle. And if I ever become tired of being an estate agent, I might open my own matchmaking agency. Having you as a client reference wouldn’t exactly hurt.”

“Right,” Potter snorts.

Merlin, he’s so gullible. All the better. He doesn’t seem to suspect a thing.

“Ugh, I can’t concentrate anymore,” Potter groans and drops the Daily Prophet on his desk.

“Take the rest of the day off, then,” Draco smirks. He knows Potter would never do that, even when Draco challenges him like that. “Pamper yourself a bit before your date tonight. I’ll owl Michael now. Wouldn’t want to keep true love waiting, now would we?”

Potter waves a dismissive hand in the air. This will be the fourth blind date Draco arranged for him, and Draco has no doubt about how it will turn out. Michael Backford is a despicable sod. He can be charming if he wants to, but there’s only really one thing he’s after; commitment isn’t really his thing. And since Potter isn’t the type to sleep around, he’ll ditch Michael faster than the dimwit can hit the Bludger.

Yes, it’ll go perfectly. It’s no surprise, of course. Draco put a lot of thought into his plan. It won’t be long now until Potter finally realises there’s only one man for him.

* * *

   
“Here, extra milk, no sugar.”

“Thanks,” Potter mumbles as he flings himself onto the sofa in his office. He looks terrible, and Draco couldn’t feel better about it.

“Rough night?” he asks innocently, leaning against Potter’s desk.

“You could say that. That Backford is quite a handful.”

“Do tell,” Draco grins.

“I’m not going to go into details.” Potter stretches and lets out a groan.

Draco freezes. What the—Potter isn’t implying… is he? “Tell me everything. Right now.”

“I didn’t take you for such a gossip,” Potter snorts.

“Potter,” Draco hisses. If he isn’t careful, the paper cup in his hand will burst.

“Well, he made it clear pretty early in the evening that he was only interested in a quick shag.”

“And?” Draco can practically feel his blood beginning to boil.

Potter sips at his coffee and, to Draco’s horror, has the audacity to grin.

“You—You didn’t,” he stammers.

Potter shrugs. “He’s handsome. Who am I to turn him down?”

“You—WHAT?” Draco’s cup lands on the floor, spilling coffee all over the carpet.

“What’s your problem? You set us up, remember?”

“Right,” Draco grumbles, taking deep breaths to regain his composure. “I guess I’m just surprised. I didn’t think you’d—”

“Hahahahaha! Oh Merlin, you should see your face right now.”

Draco blinks. “What?”

“I was just taking the piss,” Potter sniggers.

Oh, thank Merlin!

“As if I would let that creep anywhere near me. Well, I did a little, but he was so sloppy, I—”

“WHAT?”

“What?”

“You let him—What did he do?”

Potter sits up and looks down at his hands. “After we left the restaurant, he pulled me into an alley and started grinding up on me.”

Draco narrows his eyes, feeling his stomach churn uncomfortably.

“He started kissing my neck like a dog.” Potter scrunches up his nose. “I told him to stop, but that only seemed to encourage him. So I tried to push him away and—”

“And what?”

“Well,” Potter looks a bit sheepish, “I accidentally kneed him in the balls.”

They stare at each other for a moment before Draco bursts out laughing.

“So you’re not mad?” Potter asks.

“Why would I be mad?”

“He’s your friend, isn’t he?”

“Not really. He’s just a client. I sold him a property in France a few years ago.”

A property Pansy hadn’t shut up about during her brief fling with Backford. Maybe Draco should have seen this coming after all. Backford treats his dates like trophies rather than people. He probably pissed himself at the prospect of having Harry Potter as another notch in his belt. How dare he treat Potter with so little respect. Draco will teach him a lesson.

“Show me what he did,” Draco says and sits down next to Potter.

“Excuse me?”

“Show me how he kissed you.”

“What?” Potter sounds scandalised. “Why?”

“I want to know exactly what the sod did.”

“I’m not going to kiss you.”

Draco tries to swallow his disappointment at Potter’s tone; he sounds like it’s the most ludicrous idea.

“Fine. But I will send him a Howler.”

Potter blinks at him with an unreadable expression. “Won’t that be bad for your business?”

“I don’t care,” Draco growls. “I’m dropping him as a client if that wasn’t already obvious.”

Potter gives him a peculiar look.

“I shouldn’t have sent you on that date,” Draco sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Potter says.

“It’s not. He assaulted you.”

“I do know how to defend myself.”

Draco snorts. “Expelliarmus and sarcasm only get you so far.”

“Worked on Voldemort,” Potter shrugs. “But it did put a few things into perspective. No more dates. As much as I appreciate your, err, help, I don’t think it’s going to work out.” He lets his head fall onto the backrest and closes his eyes.

Draco’s heart jumps, but he tries to keep his face impassive. Is Potter ready for phase two of his plan? No, not yet. Draco has to make sure everything is in place first.

“Maybe I’m the problem,” Potter mutters. “Maybe there’s something wrong with me.”

“What?”

“Maybe I’m too picky. Or maybe I bring out the worst in people.”

Draco studies him for a moment, cocking his head. “Well, look who's finally come around. And it only took you twenty-five years to realise it. A fault confessed is half redressed, you know.”

Potter laughs and elbows Draco in the ribs.

“That’s only half of the problem though. You just… haven’t been with the right person yet.”

“Oh?” Potter turns to Draco with a questioning look.

Draco swallows, letting his hand move towards Potter’s hair without really intending to. “I can show you what it would be like.”

“Um… what?”

Shit, was that too obvious?

“There’s, um, one last person I’d like to set you up with.”

“Who?”

“It’s… a secret admirer. He’d like to stay anonymous for the time being.”

“Why?”

“He—” Draco swallows. “He isn’t ready for you to know who he is yet.”

“That sounds mysterious,” Potter mumbles. “And a little weird.”

“Trust me, it’ll be worth it.”

“If you say so.”

“He’s nothing like the people you’ve dated before.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. He never would have done what Backford did to you.”

Potter raises an eyebrow, as though he’s challenging Draco.

“If it would have been him, he would have waited until the end of the night, until you were on your doorstep.” He drops his voice, brushing his fingers through Potter’s hair and relishes the blush on Potter’s cheeks. “He would have touched the corner of your mouth ever so slightly,” Draco mentally cheers when Potter shudders, “and you would have felt your heart beating faster.” Draco tries to ignore his own heartbeat and concentrates on keeping his voice steady. “And as he leaned in, you would have closed your eyes, waiting in anticipation for his lips to touch yours.”

Potter makes a little noise, which leaves Draco’s mind completely blank. He can barely keep himself from leaning forward and closing the gap between them. He’s wanted to for so long, and now that they’re here… No. He can’t. The plan. He must stick to the plan.

“But before he’d kiss you,” Draco whispers, “he—he would have told you—”

“Harry, are you still working on—”

Draco nearly falls off the sofa as Granger comes bursting in.

“Oh, err, I’m sorry. Am I interrupting something?”

“Yes,” Draco grumbles, the same moment Potter practically yells, “No!”

“Okay,” Granger says slowly. “I can come back if you—”

“No,” Potter splutters. “It’s fine.”

“What happened to your carpet?” Granger asks, nodding at the ugly coffee stain.

“Nothing,” Potter says and vanishes it with a flick of his wand.

“I should go,” Draco sighs. He pauses in the doorframe and turns to Potter. “I’ll arrange… you-know-what with you-know-who for tomorrow evening. I’ll owl you the details.”

Potter nods, his lips pressed into a tight line.

“You-know-who?” Granger echoes.

“Poor choice of words. Potter knows what I mean. Alright then. See you around. Granger.” Draco nods at her before he flees the scene, but not without overhearing Granger bombarding Potter with questions about what the hell is going on.

Merlin, this definitely wasn’t part of his plan. Neither was this whole secret admirer thing. But it might work out just fine. Draco knows exactly what to do.

* * *

   
Convincing the owner of the restaurant to cancel all the reservations for the evening is such a piece of cake, Draco wonders why he even bothered doing it this early. Some things are so easy when you’re rich. Even the string quartet couldn’t say no to his offer. They can play at the Royal Albert Hall, or whatever it’s called, anytime, can’t they?

After handing the chef a list of what Potter and he will have, Draco sits down at the only table left in the restaurant and leans back. This was almost too easy. He snorts under his breath when two waiters rush over, one holding a champagne cooler and the other a handful of rose petals.

“Nice touch,” Draco laughs and nods in approval. This evening will be perfect. Absolutely perfect. Except for the fact that Potter is late. Of course he is.

Draco drums his fingers on the table, feeling edgier with every passing minute. How will Potter react when he finds out his secret admirer is Draco? Well, he might be shocked at first, but surely, everything Draco has planned will sweep him off his feet. How could it not? It’s the perfect first date.

Heart racing, Draco gestures for the string quartet to start playing the moment Potter stumbles in, making him blink like a scared puppy.

“What—What’s going on? What—” His mouth falls open. “Why are _you_ here?”

“You’re late,” Draco smiles, unable to keep himself from pointing it out. “Please, take a seat.”

Potter eyes him sceptically as he slowly takes off his coat, revealing a lumberjack shirt and jeans. Well. It could be worse. Actually, not really. Only if Potter had decided to wear pyjamas. It’s moments like this Draco wonders how on earth he could have fallen for such a dolt. But then the corners of Potter’s mouth curl upwards into an uncertain and almost shy smile and Draco’s heart skips a beat, leaving him utterly breathless.

“Champagne?” Draco snaps his fingers and one of the waiters promptly appears at his side.

“Is this place always this empty?” Potter whispers.

“It is when you pay them enough,” Draco shrugs.

Potter looks taken aback for a moment, then turns to gaze at the string quartet. Draco watches him, waits for him to put the pieces together. Instead, Potter tentatively touches one of the rose petals with a twitching finger.

“This is—”

Amazing? Fabulous? Grand?

“This is pretty romantic.”

“That’s the point,” Draco says.

“But—” Potter cocks his head. “Be honest, am I being stood up?”

“What?”

“My secret admirer. Did he change his mind? Is that why you’re here?”

Draco nearly spits his mouthful of champagne in Potter’s face. Is. He. Fucking. SERIOUS? Draco quickly swallows and only chokes a little before the waiter comes striding in, balancing two plates on his arms.

“Thank god, I’m starving,” Potter groans.

“Coquilles St. Jacques Grillées et Minestrone de Palourdes,” the waiter announces before he swiftly disappears again.

“What is that?” Potter asks and leans down to inspect the contents of his plate.

“Grilled scallops,” Draco barks and unfurls his napkin with a flourish before placing it on his lap. Potter is unbelievable. So it’s not even a possibility for him that Draco might be his secret admirer? Really?

“Hey, I’m the one being stood up here. The least you could do is be nice about the fucking… whatever this is.” Potter pokes the scallops with obvious scepticism, as though he’s checking if they’re still alive. Draco has to admit, as obtuse as it is, it’s also a little adorable. Just a little though. Merlin, he must be losing his mind.

He decides not to comment on it and starts eating, watching Potter out of the corner of his eye. Maybe he can still turn this around. Potter is clearly still oblivious, but they are on a date and Draco’s plan might still work.

“So, tell me,” Potter says, “who is my secret admirer? And why isn’t he here?”

“Who says he isn’t?” Draco grins.

Potter narrows his eyes. “Is he hiding somewhere?” he whispers.

Draco pinches the bridge of his nose. “He’s in plain sight, actually. He has been all this time.”

Potter makes a little noise that almost sounds like a choke. Draco mentally cheers. Finally, _f_ _inally_ he’s catching on.

“Potter, there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about. I’ve done a lot of thinking lately and—”

Potter makes another noise, louder this time and lowers his head as though he’s trying to avoid Draco’s gaze. Does he already know where Draco is going with this?

“And I’ve come to the conclusion that—”

Potter starts coughing and repeatedly hits his chest. Merlin, he could at least wait until Draco is finished.

“Potter, I—” He breaks off when Potter starts wheezing; it almost sounds like he’s suffocating. “Potter, are you alright?”

“I—I—”

Draco gasps when he finally gets a good look at Potter’s face.

“Merlin’s pants, what’s wrong with your eyes?”

“I don’t know, I can’t see anything.”

Draco mentally snorts. Yeah, no shit. They’re completely swollen.

“Ugh, and why is it so itchy in here? Are you itchy?”

Draco stares at him as Potter furiously scratches his neck and his chest. There are angry red blotches all over his skin.

“For fuck’s sake,” Draco bellows and jumps out of his seat. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re allergic to scallops?”

“I didn’t know,” Potter chokes. “I’ve never had them before.”

Draco stares at him, feeling absolutely gobsmacked. Leave it to Potter and his boorishness to ruin everything.

“Come on, let’s get you to St Mungo’s,” Draco sighs.

It only takes half an hour, a potion and a couple of spells until Potter’s restored to his old self, but it gives Draco far too much time to think. Is this a sign? Should he give up on Potter? Is Draco only wasting his time? Well, if that’s the case, he’s wasted nearly half of his life. It’s taken him so long to accept the fact he doesn’t want anybody else. If only Potter could see it as well. But what if he doesn’t? What if he doesn’t feel the same? Draco thought it would be easy to make Potter see what he’s been missing, but what if what’s been missing in his life isn’t Draco?

The realisation crashes down on him, leaving him numb. He’s probably been too arrogant. Potter can have anybody he wants, why would he choose to be with Draco?

He shakes his head, willing the self-destructive thoughts to go away.

_“Your past doesn’t define you.”_ That’s what Potter told him many years ago. It took a long time until Draco was finally able to believe him. Becoming friends with him wasn’t exactly a walk in the park, but before Draco knew it, Potter had become one of the most important people in his life.

“You look horrible,” Draco mutters when Potter comes shuffling out of the treatment room.

“Thanks. I guess getting your stomach pumped will do that to you. Although this was better than the Muggle way, I suppose.”

So. What now? Giving up has never been Draco’s forte, but, he has to admit, there might be a few flaws in his plan he hadn’t taken into consideration; for example, tricking Potter into liking him might not be the way to go with this dimwit. He might have to be—Draco shudders—honest with him. Merlin, he can’t do that. But what if it’s the only way? Ugh. He’ll have to sleep on it.

“Thanks for not leaving me alone at the restaurant,” Potter says. “I guess it would have been a little humiliating, sitting there by myself.”

Draco gapes at him.

“You’re a good friend, Draco.”

It suddenly becomes quite the challenge to stay vertical. It’s like Potter punched him right in the gut. ‘Good friend’. Not only is that the last thing Draco wants to be, there’s this sudden tightness in his chest; he’s been lying to Potter, and he thinks Draco is being a good friend? Merlin, could this get any worse?

“Hey, when you see that secret admirer of mine, could you give him a message?”

Draco just blinks.

“Tell him: fuck off, you’re a coward and I don’t need this.” He gives Draco an expectant look, until Draco slowly nods and follows him outside.

As much as he disagrees with Potter — he isn’t a coward; it’s not his fault Potter can’t play along to his brilliant plan — he needs to change tactics. The longer he thinks about it, the more he realises how stupid he’s been. Of course Potter doesn’t want fancy restaurants and string quartets. No, he wants something else. He wants simple. And honest. Yuck. No, Draco definitely can’t do that. But it’s becoming obvious he has to get a little more aggressive.

“Are you free tomorrow?” Draco asks, trying to sound casual.

“That depends,” Potter says warily.

“No blind date,” Draco smiles.

“Oh?”

“I thought we could spend some time together,” he shrugs.

Potter cocks his head and gives him a curious look. “Okay, sure.”

“Great. Come over to mine at seven. I’ll cook dinner.”

“ _You_ will cook dinner?”

“Don’t act so shocked. I know how to prepare a meal.”

Potter still looks sceptical.

“Fine, no food for you, then.”

“No, no, I’m just… surprised.”

Draco smirks. “There’ll be a lot more surprises, Potter,” he murmurs under his breath. “Just you wait.”

* * *

   
Potter seems pretty impressed by the lamb chops and Draco couldn’t feel more accomplished. He knows he isn’t the best cook, but determination can apparently do wonders. It’s actually quite nice, seeing Potter sprawled on his sofa, sated and happy. Phase one was definitely a success.

“More firewhisky?” Draco asks innocently.

“Sure.”

Draco mentally cheers. Phase two is also going beautifully so far. He just has to get Potter and himself a little tipsy; whatever happens next won’t be his fault then. He can always blame it on the alcohol.

He knows from experience that things can get interesting when Potter drinks. Potter was actually pretty hammered when he told Draco he doesn‘t only like girls, he‘s also into blokes. Draco remembers it as if it were yesterday. He nearly had a heart attack right in the middle of the club. Potter didn’t remember the next day, but he told Draco again, dead sober, two months later.

“How’s work going?” Potter asks, taking a sip and snuggling back into the sofa.

“Oh, you know, the usual. I did get a new listing though. Beautiful manor in Scotland. It needs a bit of renovation, but after that, I think we could sell it for about 5 Million.”

“Galleons? 5 Million Galleons?”

“Of course.”

“Merlin, who would spend so much money on a house?”

“Oh Potter,” Draco chuckles. “Believe me, there are enough big-heads out there.”

“Like you?” Potter smirks.

“Actually, people like you. You know, celebrities who don’t know what to do with their shitload of money.”

“Ugh, I hate being called a celebrity. I’m not. You know that.”

“Indeed,” Draco says, scrunching up his nose in fake mockery.

“Would you ever sell me a house though?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. Maybe I’d let one of my agents do it.”

“Why not yourself?”

Draco cocks his head, about to answer that it’s never a good idea to mix business with pleasure. Or friendship. Or, actually, in this case, the love of his life.

“Don’t I deserve the best?” Potter grins.

There’s no need to point out that Draco is indeed the best, he knows it; still, having Potter say it like that makes Draco’s chest feel warm and tingly.

“Are you in need of a new property?”

“No,” Potter laughs. “I was just asking hypothetically.”

“Ah, speaking of hypothetically.” Draco puts down his glass and walks over to his shelf. “Let’s play a game.”

“A game? Since when are you into games?”

Draco snorts and puts the deck of cards between them on the table. “I thought it might be fun,” he smiles wickedly.

“What kind of game is this exactly?”

“You’ll find out. Take a card.”

Potter does, a bit reluctantly. Draco has to keep himself from bursting into giggles when Potter blushes crimson.

“What does it say?”

“I—What kind of game is this?”

“It was a present from Pansy,” Draco shrugs. “Now tell me what the card says.”

Potter blushes some more and takes another sip of firewhisky.

“Are you that much of a chicken?” Draco smirks.

Potter glares at him and takes a deep breath. “ _Have you ever taken someone’s virginity?_ ”

“Ugh, how boring,” Draco sighs and leans back. “I already know the answer to that one. Pick another card.”

“Isn’t it your turn now?” Potter asks, narrowing his eyes.

“Fine.” His eyes scan the card, a smirk forming on his lips. “Ah, it’s an action card. _Take off your shirt for the rest of the game._ ” He puts his elbow on the backrest and gives Potter an expectant glance. “I’m waiting.”

“Err… I’m pretty sure _you’re_ supposed to take off your shirt.”

“Oh, well, if you insist.” He watches Potter closely as he unbuttons his shirt, revelling in the fact that Potter is unable to look at him. “Done. Your turn.”

Potter needs three attempts until he’s finally able to grab a card. His eyes widen as he clutches it. “I—I can’t answer that.”

Draco lets out a sigh and snatches the card out of his hand. “ _Who is the most inappropriate person you’ve had a sexual fantasy about?_ ” Oh, interesting. “Come on, Potter, don’t be shy. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

Potter hides his face behind his glass and downs the rest of the firewhisky in one gulp.

“That bad?” Draco asks, raising an eyebrow. “Is it Robards?”

Potter chokes. “Sure, let’s say it’s Robards.”

Draco narrows his eyes in suspicion. “Come on, who is it really?”

“I answered the question,” Potter says resolutely. Before Draco can say anything to that, Potter shoves another card at him. As Draco reads it, his mind begins to reel. This couldn’t be more perfect.

“Potter,” he purrs. “ _Try not to get turned on while I sit on your lap and kiss your neck for sixty seconds._ ”

“W—What?”

Draco moves instantly, burying his hands in Potter’s hair and trapping his hips with his thighs.

“Draco, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“This is—” Potter gulps. “You’re shirtless.”

“It’s just a game,” Draco says, trying to hide his enthusiasm. He lowers his head, inhaling the glory that is Potter’s scent and starts brushing his lips against his skin.

“Oh god,” Potter groans, and Draco feels him grabbing the edge of the sofa. Perfect.

He opens his mouth and lets his tongue dart out, licking and sucking at Potter’s neck like he dreamed about for so long. He feels Potter squirm beneath him, making his heart beat faster. Merlin, this is the best day ever. It would be even better though if Potter stopped gripping the sofa and put his hands on Draco instead.

“Um, okay, I—I think that’s about sixty seconds,” Potter says breathlessly.

Draco pulls back with a serene smile. “Did that turn you on?”

Potter’s blush seems to have wandered up to the roots of his hair. He makes a few incoherent noises before he gently pushes Draco off his lap.

“I—No. That’s not—I—”

Draco snorts at his babbling and takes a quick peek at Potter’s crotch. It’s hard to tell, but he thinks there might be a little bulge. Huh. He’ll have to try harder next time. But it seems he succeeded at least a little. Potter grabs the firewhisky and pours it into his glass quite frantically.

“Your turn, Potter.”

“Do we really have to keep playing?”

“Don’t be a spoilsport. We’re having so much fun,” Draco smiles.

Potter groans, but takes a card and reads it out loud. “ _Let me lick your lips and you have to resist kissing or touching me the whole time._ ”

Draco’s eyes go wide without his permission. Oh. Oh no. This is going to be a tough one. Hmmm, but maybe… maybe Potter won’t be able to control himself and he’ll end up kissing Draco. Now _that_ would be a perfect outcome.

Bringing himself into a more comfortable position, he pats his thigh, indicating that Potter should sit on his lap.

“Are you sure?” Potter asks.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

The longer Potter stays silent, the more irritated Draco feels. Is kissing Draco such an absurd thought? Is Potter really not that into it?

“Merlin, this is so wrong,” Potter mutters.

Draco tries not to feel hurt by this and waits in anticipation as Potter crawls over to him.

“How, err, how long do I have to—”

_Have to._ Potter might as well just punch Draco in the gut.

“Until you think it’s enough,” Draco snaps, feeling his muscles tense.

“O—Okay.” Potter bites his lip, looking unsure, while all Draco can think about is how much _he_ wants to bite Potter’s lip. “Okay, hold still,” Potter says quietly and reaches out to cup Draco’s cheeks.

Holy Mother of Merlin.

Draco’s heart suddenly beats so fast, he’s a little embarrassed. Potter’s going to kiss him. Well, not really, he’s going to lick his lips, but it’s pretty much the same. Right?

Oh, but it isn’t. It really isn’t, Draco realises as Potter’s tongue brushes against his lips. It’s the most amazing feeling, and yet, it’s not enough. It’s not nearly enough. Draco wants to crane his neck, push their mouths together, grab Potter’s hips and pull him closer. He almost does.

“You can’t kiss or touch me,” Potter whispers. “That’s what the card said.”

Sod the damn card, Draco wants to say. But he stays still and closes his eyes, enduring the blissful torture of having Potter’s tongue pressed against his lips. The bastard even starts teasing him, flicking his tongue at the corner of Draco’s mouth and tracing the line of his upper lip. Merlin, this is unbearable.

Potter shifts in his lap, rubbing his crotch against Draco’s while his tongue traces the seam between Draco’s lips.

“Fuck!” His eyes snap open while his hands automatically move to grab Potter’s hips. He stares into green eyes, feeling like he’s being lured into a deep forest with no hope of ever finding his way out. It’s fine. He doesn’t want to anyway.

“Um, sorry,” Potter mumbles. “I—I think that’s enough.”

What? But—But—

Draco watches helplessly as Potter climbs off of him and hastily reaches for the firewhisky. Damn it, this definitely isn’t going as planned. Potter is insufferable.

Still, Draco tries to keep his face impassive and softly clears his throat. “Right. Onto the next one, then.” He takes a card, trying to ignore the iciness in his stomach. “ _Whisper something in my ear that you think will turn me on._ ”

Potter goes rigid and something like panic flashes over his features.

“Come on, Potter, I know you can do it. I believe in you,” Draco smirks, feeling more determined than ever. He’ll get Potter to fall for him. One night, that’s all Draco needs. Potter won’t be able to even look at another man afterwards.

“Err, I—”

“Come here,” Draco says, scooting closer. “You’re supposed to whisper in my ear.”

Potter swallows, looking like Draco asked him to fight a Dementor without his wand. Oh, if only Potter knew how easy this task really is. He’d only have to blow on Draco’s ear and he’d be turned on. Hell, he’s so turned on already, he has to block Potter’s view to his crotch.

He stays completely still as Potter moves closer and lets out a shaky breath.

“I—I think you’re beautiful,” he whispers.

Draco almost shudders. It’s not quite what he expected, but it is nice. Sort of. Even though it couldn’t be more innocent.

“What else, Potter?”

“Huh?”

“You’re supposed to turn me on, remember?”

“I—But—Do you—” Potter blinks. “Do you really want that?”

“It’s part of the game,” Draco shrugs.

“Oh. Yeah. I just—I—”

“Here, let me show you.” Draco leans in, making sure his breath hits Potter’s ear full-on. “I want to grab you, shove you up against the wall and kiss you until you forget how to breathe.”

Potter inhales sharply and accidentally bumps his chin against Draco’s shoulder.

“And how I’d love to get you out of these trousers,” he purrs, gently brushing a finger against Potter’s thigh. “If only you knew how much I’m dying to get on my knees for you.”

Potter makes a noise that sends tingles down Draco’s spine.

“You can have me on my knees all night, sucking your—”

“Ooookay, you’ve made your point,” Potter practically shrieks and jumps to the other end of the sofa. “Merlin, you’re a good actor.”

Draco gives him a lopsided grin, even though disappointment bubbles up inside his chest. Potter was supposed to grab him and kiss him, not cower in the corner like a scared animal. Why is this so hard? Why is Potter making it so damn hard?

“One more card,” Draco says defiantly. “Last one, I promise. Here, I’ll take it.”

This better be good. It’s his last chance.

Draco studies the card, mentally cursing. “ _Use your tongue to spell out a secret you have on a part of my body_.” This won’t be getting him anywhere.

“Do I have to?” Potter asks, his tone pleading.

“Yes,” Draco says, feeling spiteful.

“Ugh, you’re unbelievable. Fine, turn around. Good thing you’re already shirtless,” he mutters under his breath, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Draco does, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He jerks when he feels warm hands on his back and immediately closes his eyes. Potter has never touched his bare skin like this before. It’s heaven. But it’s nothing compared to the feeling of Potter’s tongue. Draco has to keep himself from letting out a moan when Potter licks his back in one swift motion.

“What was that?” Draco asks, keeping his voice low and steady. “You’re supposed to spell out a secret.”

“I am,” Potter grumbles and lets his tongue get to work once more.

Draco tries to concentrate, tries to decipher the letters Potter is writing with his tongue, but it’s harder than he anticipated. Potter’s tongue just feels _so good_ against his skin.

“There,” Potter announces. “We’re done now, right?”

“Potter, your handwriting is atrocious, even when you’re writing with your tongue,” Draco huffs.

“So… you don’t know what I wrote?” Potter sounds nervous. What in Merlin’s name did he write on Draco’s back?

“No,” Draco says reluctantly. He gets even more suspicious when Potter lets out a relieved sigh.

“Alright, I think I’d better get home now. Thanks for dinner.”

Before Draco can stop him, he’s already vanished in Draco’s fireplace.

Ugh, what a failure this evening has been. He thought he could move things forward with Potter, get him to see what a perfect fit he and Draco are. All he did was scare Potter off. Great. Well, granted, maybe he came on a little too strong. But, luckily, just like he planned, he can blame it on the alcohol and the game. But having an explanation for this evening is one thing. How the fuck is he supposed to win over Potter now? Nothing seems to be working with him. Being more aggressive didn’t work, showing him how unsuitable everybody else was didn’t work… What else is there?

Well, there’s still one last thing Draco hasn’t tried. It’s what he’s been avoiding all this time. His last resort, so to say. Honesty. The thought alone makes him shudder. Being open and honest about anything, let alone his feelings, isn’t exactly something that comes naturally to him. But he’s willing to try. For Potter. Ugh, he’s getting soppy already.

This is going to be absolutely dreadful.

* * *

   
Watching Potter on a broom will never get old. It’s just so obvious he’s in his element. Draco can’t even be mad about the fact that the prat caught the Snitch three times.

“So, are we going to talk about the other night?” Potter asks while stuffing his face with more goat cheese. Well, at least the picnic Draco prepared is somewhat appreciated.

“What is there to talk about?”

Potter raises an eyebrow. “So… there’s nothing standing between us? Nothing awkward, or maybe something we need to discuss?”

Draco can feel panic bubbling up inside him. This is it, this is his chance, a perfect opportunity to confess his feelings. Potter is practically presenting him with everything he needs on a silver platter.

“No, nothing,” Draco smiles while mentally slapping himself. He hates backing down, but how is he supposed to do this? He can’t just blurt it out like an idiot.

He hears Potter sigh and knows the moment has passed.

“It’s kind of weird being back here,” Potter murmurs.

“Good weird or bad weird?”

“Both, I guess. A lot of things happened on this pitch.” A small grin plays around the corners of Potter’s mouth. “Like me beating your arse every single time.”

“Gloat all you want. It’s the only thing you’re ever going to beat me at.”

“Is that so?”

Draco watches as Potter lies down on his back and stretches, causing his jumper to ride up. Merlin’s fucking beard, Draco wants to touch that beautiful skin so badly. If he didn’t know any better, he’d suspect Potter’s showing off his fucking happy trail on purpose.

“I can’t remember when I last took the time to watch the sunset,” Potter says quietly. He sounds so relaxed and content, it makes Draco smile. He lies down on his side and props up his head on his hand.

“You work too much.”

“I know,” Potter sighs.

“You should hire more people who work  _f_ _or_ you. Believe me, it’s the best.”

“That’s not exactly how it’s done in the Auror Department,” Potter laughs.

“Well, at least once you’re Head Auror you can delegate more, right? Although, knowing you, you’ll probably work even more.”

“It’s just who I am,” Potter says, sounding a bit sheepish.

“I know,” Draco sighs. “Even though it’s hard to admit, it’s one of the things I lo—” Shit! “Err, loathe about you.”

“What?” Potter snorts. “Since when is it hard to admit that you hate me?”

Draco quickly feigns amusement while his heart nearly jumps out of his chest. That was close. Too close. He does want Potter to know how he feels, but not like this. Not blurted out as a side note.

“Hmmm, this is nice. I’m glad we came here,” Potter murmurs.

Draco studies him, drinking in Potter’s handsome face and his soft expression. Even before Draco really got to know him he was attracted to Potter. He never would have admitted it back then, but there was also no denying it. Getting to know this other side of Potter, one he never knew existed when they were in school, was completely overwhelming. Draco has never met anyone with so much warmth and passion in them. How could Draco not fall for him? He really never had a fighting chance. And as frustrating as being in love with Potter is, Draco wouldn’t want it any other way. There’s nobody else out there for him. It’s simply out of the question.

“I really like you, Potter.”

The moment Potter turns to look at him, Draco freezes. Fuck. So much for not blurting it out. But maybe it’s a good thing. Now it’s finally out and—

Draco frowns when Potter bursts out laughing.

“I know you don’t actually hate me, Draco. But thanks.” He grins and turns his gaze back to the sky. “I really like you, too.”

That—What the—Merlin. He’s doomed. Potter will never understand how he feels. This is hopeless. Honestly, maybe he should stop trying. Clearly, they’re not as meant to be as Draco thought. But…

He follows Potter’s gaze, up to the blackened sky and the twinkling stars. It’s a beautiful night. It would be a shame to let it go to waste.

Having made up his mind, Draco pushes himself off the ground and holds out his hand to Potter.

“Come here.”

“What?”

“Come here.”

“To do what?”

“Dance with me.”

Potter looks like he doesn’t know if he should laugh again or have Draco admitted to the Janus Thickey Ward.

“Are you feeling okay?” Potter asks, propping himself up on his elbows.

“Questioning my sanity. Alright, fair enough. Dancing with you is dangerous after all. For my feet anyway.”

“Hey, I took lessons. I know how to dance.”

“Then what are you afraid of?”

“Who said anything about—Ugh, fine!” Potter scrambles off the ground and brushes some imaginary dirt off his trousers. He seems nervous. Good. Any sign of emotion is a good sign. The only thing Draco couldn’t handle right now is indifference; it would be the last nail in his coffin.

He raises his chin and waits for Potter to bring himself into position. He immediately notices that Potter’s hand is a bit clammy; it makes his heart squeeze in excitement. But his mind is jumping to conclusions. It doesn’t mean what he so desperately wants it to mean. Potter’s just nervous about dancing with him.

Without waiting for him to agree, Draco takes the lead and starts twirling them across the grass.

“I feel so ridiculous,” Potter laughs.

Draco can’t help but smile and slows down a bit, soaking up the warmth of Potter’s hand in his. His fingers twitch against the small of Potter’s back while his heart does its own little dance.

It’s kind of ironic, he thinks; he didn’t plan this romantic setting, and yet, dancing under the stars on the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch might be hard to top.

“It’s a bit weird without any music, isn’t it?” Potter murmurs.

Draco purses his lips, trying to think of something. He gives Potter a lopsided grin before he pulls out his wand and points it at the grass.

“What are you—” Potter’s eyes widen when the soft sound of flutes wafts over them.

“There’s your music,” Draco smiles, grabbing Potter’s hand once more. He’s tempted to ask if he’s really rendered him speechless, but he’s momentarily distracted by several twinkling lights that suddenly surround them.

“Oh!” Potter noticed them, too. “Fairies,” he breathes. “I’ve never seen so many at once before.”

Draco’s heart swells at Potter’s wonderstruck expression, softly illuminated by the fairies.

“Look, they’re dancing with us,” Potter says, his eyes fixed on the fairies, while Draco is unable to pull his gaze away from Potter’s face.

His stomach flips when Potter’s eyes find his; does he feel it, too? The invisible force that seems to be between them, drawing them towards each other? Draco isn’t sure what to think when Potter’s smile slowly turns into a more serious expression, but it does make his breath hitch. He could almost convince himself that Potter feels what he feels with the way he’s looking at him, brushing his thumb against Draco’s hand.

Warmth floods him, reminding him he hasn’t been this happy in a long, long time. Maybe he’s never been this happy at all. He should tell Potter. He should let him know how much he means to him. He always assumes Potter must already know, how could he not, but, in the interest of full disclosure, maybe he really needs to say it out loud.

“I, err—” Damn it, why is he so nervous? “I—I’m glad to have you in my life, Potter.” Merlin, this honesty thing is disgusting. “And I, um, I’d like it if you maybe… played an even bigger role in it.”

Potter stills, his face unreadable. Draco swallows, his heart sinking when Potter starts to snigger.

“What’s gotten into you tonight?” Potter asks. His snigger suddenly turns into a look of concern, his features twisting in horror. “You’re not dying, are you?”

“Thanks, I appreciate your faith in me to only express my feelings when I’m fatally ill.”

“Well, you have to admit, this isn’t really like you.”

“Great,” Draco snaps, pulling away, “see if I’ll ever pour out my heart to you ever—”

“God, can you please stop being so dramatic?” Potter groans, pulling Draco back close to him. “I—I didn’t know you were that serious.”

Draco huffs and keeps his eyes on the fairies. This is so embarrassing.

“I—I feel the same way. Pretty much,” Potter murmurs.

Merlin, how long he’s waited to hear those words. _I feel the same way._ He catches a glimpse of Potter’s face, his rosy cheeks and his shy smile. It’s almost too much. He can’t believe this is happening. Potter feels the same way. He feels _the same way_.

“Potter.”

“I know, Draco.”

Draco freezes when Potter suddenly pulls him into a hug. He must be dreaming.

After what feels like hours, Potter releases him but keeps his face close to Draco’s. Merlin, he fantasised about kissing Potter about a million times, and yet, now that it might happen for real, he has no fucking clue what to do.

“Draco,” Potter breathes. “I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Ah, this must be what it feels like to be petrified. The feeling only intensifies when Potter moves closer. Oh Merlin, he’s going to do it. He’s going to kiss Draco. He’s going to… pull him into another hug?

“Thank you,” Potter whispers. “This is exactly what I needed.”

Another fucking hug?

“It’s so nice to have a fun night, knowing I won’t be disappointed at the end.”

Wait, what? Merlin’s fucking balls. This couldn’t be more tragically ironic.

“It’s getting a bit cold,” Potter says. “How about we grab a butterbeer at The Three Broomsticks?”

Draco can only stare at him. Did Potter just make him believe all his dreams came true, only to crush them in under a minute?

“Draco?”

“You fucking arsehole.”

“Um, what?”

“YOU FUCKING ARSEHOLE!”

“Draco, what’s gotten into—”

Acting on impulse, Draco draws his wand. But before he can even begin to decide what kind of jinx to fire at Potter, he hears him yelling,

“Expelliarmus!”

Fucking typical.

What’s worse, Potter tackles him and they both crash to the ground with Draco being pinned down by him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Potter bellows.

“Get off me!”

“Not until you tell me what your fucking problem is!”

“YOU ARE MY PROBLEM!”

“You’ll have to be more specific than that,” Potter deadpans.

“I tried EVERYTHING to make you see it, but you—”

“Make me see what?”

“All those blind dates, who were obviously so, so wrong for you, but you were just wasting my time and—”

“Wait, WHAT?” Potter suddenly looks livid. “You sent me on dates _knowing_ those people were wrong for me? Did you choose them because they’re wrong for me?”

“Everyone else is wrong for you,” Draco snarls.

“Everyone else—What the hell are you—Fuck, I can’t believe I trusted you! I thought you were my friend!”

“And that’s all I’ll ever be, right?”

“What? Draco, what the hell are you talking about?”

“Nothing. Get off me.”

“No. Tell me what the fuck is going on with you. Why did you do that? Why did you set me up with those—”

“You really want to know?” Draco yells. “You want to know the fucking truth?”

“Yes, for once in your life, tell me the truth. Although I’m beginning to think you’re incapable of—”

“Why do you always think the worst of me?”

“You don’t exactly have the best track record.”

“Who told me my past doesn’t define me? Who told me I could be more than what everybody expects me to be? Were those just empty words?”

Potter suddenly looks torn. “They weren’t. And I thought you changed, but—”

“But what?”

“Now I’m not so sure. The way you’ve been acting—”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Potter.”

“Because you don’t tell me anything.”

“Rightfully so. This was a mistake.”

“What was a mistake?”

“This.”

“Draco, I don’t get it. I thought everything was good between us.”

Draco snorts and tries to push Potter off him.

“So you don’t want to be friends anymore?” Potter asks. “Just like that?”

“Yes!”

“But why? You just said—I don’t—”

“BECAUSE I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU, YOU IDIOT!”

The words ring in Draco’s ear, as though he used a Sonorous Charm.

“W—What?” Potter looks like he forgot how to breathe.

“I’m not going to say it again,” Draco says through gritted teeth.

“But—But—What?”

“Potter, do us both a favour and just—”

“No, hold on. You’re WHAT?”

Draco rolls his eyes, trying to hide his embarrassment.

“You’re in love with me? You’re _in love with me?_ ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?” Potter jumps off him, as though he’s just been stung by something poisonous.

“Fuck you, Potter,” Draco yells, feeling his throat close up. “Don’t act all high and mighty when you—”

“SHUT UP! Just… for a second, shut up.”

Draco glowers at him, wondering why the fuck he brought them here of all places. He can’t even Apparate.

“I can’t believe—” Potter starts pacing. “What else did you do?”

“What?”

“Besides the blind dates, what else did you do?”

Draco clamps his mouth shut, feeling more embarrassment bubbling up inside him.

“So how exactly did it work? Did you tell them to sabotage the dates on purpose?”

“There was no need for that,” Draco snaps. “I knew they would be horrible.”

“How?”

“Because those people aren’t me.”

Potter gapes at him. “That’s… disgustingly confident.”

Draco shrugs.

“What if I had ended up liking someone you set me up with?”

“It would have been a setback,” Draco admits, “but it wouldn’t have been the same as it would be with me.”

“What?”

“Think about it, Potter, really think about it.”

“God, I can’t believe you! You lied to me,” Potter barks. “You lied to me, and for what? What was the point of all this?”

Draco closes his eyes. It can’t really get any worse than this, can it? Lying to Potter led to this. Maybe telling the truth…

“I—I wanted to show you that,” he swallows, “I’m the one for you.” It sounds so incredibly stupid when he says it out loud.

“And you thought _this_ was the way to do it?” Potter yells. “God, for someone so intelligent, you’re such a fucking moron!”

Before Draco can say anything to that, Potter grabs one of the brooms and zooms away into the night.

Fuck. He blew it. Big time. Then again, from the looks of it, he never had a chance to begin with.

He sinks back to the ground and stares at the stars until he can’t feel his fingers anymore. The cold surrounding him matches the iciness in his heart. He can’t even bring himself to wonder how this could have turned out if he had done things differently, because he wouldn’t have. He’d always do the same thing. It’s just who he is; tricking people, to shield himself from pain. Well, that turned out splendid.

But if Potter can’t accept him for who he is, then it’s his—

No, it’s still his own loss, Draco thinks gloomily. And now he’s lost Potter for good.

* * *

  
Even after eight days, Draco can’t look at himself in the mirror. All he sees is disappointment. Throwing himself into work isn’t doing much good either. He just can’t stop thinking about the look on Potter’s face, right before he flew off into the night.

“God, finally you’re home. And you tell me I work too much.”

Draco freezes, unsure if he’s imagining Potter leaning against his front door.

“I’ve been waiting for two hours.”

“Why would you do that?” Draco asks, his mind completely blank.

“Because I need to talk to you, you prick.”

Ah, maybe he’s not imagining it after all.

“Are you going to open the door or what?”

Draco flicks his wand and marches inside, not bothering to look if Potter is following him. If he’s in such a pissy mood, wanting to talk to Draco can’t mean anything good.

“That game you made me play—”

Draco stops dead.

“—was it also part of your brilliant ploy?”

Draco tries to collect himself, taking a deep breath before he puts down his bag. “I thought it might give you a nudge in the right direction.”

“Unbelievable,” Potter grumbles. “So you thought getting me drunk and—”

“It might have been a bit short-sighted in hindsight,” Draco snaps.

“Right,” Potter snorts.

“What do you want from me, Potter? If you’re just here to throw more accusations in my face, you can just—”

“So you’re not even going to apologise?”

“For what?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I didn’t force you to go on those dates, I didn’t force firewhisky down your throat, I didn’t—” Draco breaks off when he sees the strange look on Potter’s face. It isn’t anger, as he expected; it’s much worse. He looks sad.

“Do you really mean that?” Potter asks.

Draco lets out a sigh, feeling all his bottled-up bitterness flare up inside him. “No,” he whispers, his tone deflated.

“Then… how do you really feel?”

“Like a bloody fool,” Draco groans and plops down on the sofa. “I—” He’s already hating himself for what he’s going to say next. “I didn’t think I’d have a chance if I didn’t—”

“Deceive me?”

Draco looks up, his heart breaking at the pain in Potter’s eyes. “I’m—I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I—I really am. I guess I was only thinking about myself.” He looks down at his hands in his lap and waits for Potter to say something. Anything. But he doesn’t.

When the silence finally feels too awkward, Draco softly clears his throat. “Is there any chance you’ll forgive me?”

Potter makes a weird noise, as though he’s smacking his lips. “Not quite yet.”

Draco’s eyes snap up. Oh Merlin, why is Potter looking at him like that?

“It’s time for payback.”

“What?”

Something that almost looks like a smirk forms on Potter’s lips. “If you really want me to forgive you, _you_ will have to go on a blind date this time.”

“What? With whom?”

“It wouldn’t be a blind date if I told you, now would it?”

Sweet Salazar. This can’t be good. Potter is going to torture him, isn’t he?

His suspicions are substantiated when he enters the Muggle pub Potter apparently picked for his blind date. It looks dodgy, dark and definitely like a place one would get food poisoning from. He orders their most expensive wine, although he immediately wonders why he even bothered; it’ll probably still taste like Goblin piss. And then he waits. And waits.

Is this Potter’s idea of payback? Letting Draco sit in this mostly empty, awful pub by himself? Is this supposed to be humiliating or—Oh no. Please, NO!

Draco feels the first signs of a coronary when he sees Weasley being pushed through the door. By Potter.

“Why am I being punished? I did nothing, Harry! Nothing!”

“Come on, mate. I’ll owe you one.”

“No, you’ll owe me _big time_.” Weasley grumbles something else under his breath as he sits down opposite Draco. Potter watches him with a mixture of apprehension and sternness and seats himself at the table next to them.

“Potter, what in Merlin’s name is this supposed to be?”

“He’s not talking to you,” Weasley barks.

“What?”

“If you want him to forgive you, you’ll have to convince me first.”

“Convince you? Of what?”

“That you’re serious about this.”

“What? This is ridiculous.”

“See? He’s not serious. Let’s go, Harry.”

“Wait!”

Weasley gives him an expectant glance.

“I—”

“Yes?”

“I—”

“Merlin, Harry, what did you do to him? I’ve never seen Malfoy mumble before.”

Draco glares at Weasley. “If I’m not allowed to talk to him, neither are you! This isn’t fair!”

“Ugh, fine.”

They both cross their arms and scowl at the table in excruciating silence. Is Draco supposed to say something? But what?

“Alright, Malfoy,” Weasley sighs. “Why should Harry forgive you?”

Draco presses his lips into a tight line. Why _should_ Potter forgive him?

“Honestly?” Draco swallows. “He shouldn’t. He’s probably better off without me.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Weasley cocking his head.

“Is this some kind of reverse psychology mind game?”

“What?”

“You’re trying to manipulate me, but I won’t feel sorry for you, I—”

“That’s the last thing I want,” Draco snarls. “It’s the truth. Potter doesn’t need me.”

Weasley leans back, his expression sceptical. “You know, I’d normally agree, but seeing how miserable Harry has been is making me rethink that.”

Draco’s heart jumps and he immediately feels his palms getting sweaty. Potter’s been miserable?

“So let me ask you again. Why should Harry forgive you?”

Draco closes his eyes. This is the worst kind of payback he can imagine. Baring his soul to Weasley of all people.

“Malfoy—”

“Because _I_ need him.” Draco looks Weasley dead in the eye, pretending his pride didn’t just take a massive hit.

“That sounds pretty selfish to me.”

“Well, that’s who I am. And Potter knows that.”

“I never understood why you two are even friends. I always suspected you were just using him.”

“For what?”

Weasley narrows his eyes. “To restore your reputation.”

“I’m a well-respected estate agent, I don’t need Potter to—”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t hurt to be friends with him, right?”

“You think I befriended him because he’s Harry fucking Potter?” Draco snorts. “I befriended him in spite of that. And then I stayed friends with him, in spite of his horrible temper, his pig-headedness, his poor manners, his awful fashion sense, his terrible handwriting, which no one can read and always leads to—What?”

Weasley gapes at him. “Why are you smiling?”

“What?”

“Harry, why is he smiling? Is he—Wait, why are _you_ smiling?”

Potter quickly clears his throat and furrows his brows. “Go on,” he mutters.

“Hold on, is there something I should know?” Weasley asks. “What exactly happened between you two?”

“Potter didn’t tell you?”

“He was very cryptic about it. But now I’m beginning to wonder why.”

Well, at least Potter has _some_ tact.

Draco stills when Weasley leans across the table. “Are you dating someone?”

“Excuse me?”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Ron,” Potter says warningly.

“Me? A girlfriend?” Draco can’t help but laugh.

“What’s so funny about that?”

“The idea of me having a _girl_ friend!” Draco slaps his knee.

“Wait, but Harry said—”

“What did _Harry_ say?” Draco drawls.

“Actually,” Potter says, rising from his seat, “it’s something _you_ said.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t act so coy now, Draco,” Potter practically yells. “You—” He rakes his fingers through his hair. “You fucking told me—”

“What? What did I ever tell you that would make you so—”

“You told me you were straight, you prick!”

Draco gapes at him.

“You told me, and everybody else, over and over and _over_ again that you’re straight.”

Draco drinks in Potter’s scarlet face and his flared nostrils, feeling like his entire body just turned into stone. It takes a moment for him to regain his composure, to force his lips into something that hopefully resembles a grin.

“Merlin, and you believed me? Have you met me?”

“You—” Potter looks like he’s going to explode. “DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU PUT ME THROUGH, YOU DICKHEAD?”

“What _I_ put you through?”

“Oh Merlin, you can’t be serious,” Weasley groans. “I should have known.” He gives Potter a meaningful glance. “I’m going to the loo. And when I come back, this—whatever this is—better be over.”

Potter rubs his chin and slowly shakes his head. “I can’t believe you made us both suffer over nothing.”

“Nothing?” Draco echoes, his stomach lurching.

“Why couldn’t you just tell me? Why is everything always about ploys and tricking people?”

Draco looks down at the floor and gives a noncommittal shrug. “It’s all I know.”

“But did you really have to do that to me? I trusted you.”

Draco bites his lip. “I just—I wanted you to see—I wanted you to see that we would be great at… being more than friends.”

“And you thought I’d need a parade of different witches and wizards to realise that? Some stupid game and a bottle of firewhisky?”

“Well, when you put it like that, it—”

“Yeah, it sounds really fucking stupid.”

“Hey, I didn’t know what else to do, okay?”

“So you didn’t even consider talking to me?”

“I—” It’s probably a bad idea to admit that he did consider it… as a last resort.

“You’re hopeless,” Potter sighs. “Honestly, nobody else could handle you.”

Wait… what?

“Don’t look at me like that,” Potter snaps. “I’m doing humanity a favour by forgiving you. Any other bloke would be in over his head with you.”

Trying to keep his face impassive is so hard at this point, Draco pinches his own thigh under the table.

“What exactly are you saying?”

“I’m saying you’re an idiot.” Potter gestures for him to get up and turn around.

“What are you doing?”

“That stupid game you made me play,” Potter growls. “Remember the last card?”

Draco cocks his head, trying to remember. “It was something about spelling a secret with your tongue, wasn’t it?”

Potter doesn’t answer. Instead, Draco feels him jab his finger into his back.

“Ouch! What the hell are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

Draco stays still while Potter does… something.

“Did you get it?”

“Um…”

“Merlin.” Potter sounds so exasperated, Draco wants to turn around and slap him. “Alright, I’ll go slow. Here. What’s that?”

“A line?”

“I’m spelling something, you prat! Concentrate!”

Potter draws the line again.

“Um… ‘I’?”

Potter grumbles a “Yes” under his breath before he continues.

That… could be an ‘l’... that’s definitely an ‘o’... and—Oh. No way.

“Potter.” Draco turns around while his brain quickly turns into mush. “Is that what you spelled out that night?”

Potter glares at him and gives him such a hasty little nod, Draco isn’t sure if he just imagined it.

“So you—you—”

“Like I said,” Potter says through gritted teeth, “you made us both suffer over nothing.”

“Oh.” Draco has no idea what else to say. He just stands there as Potter moves closer and slowly wraps his arms around Draco’s hips.

“You’re lucky you’re someone I apparently really need in my life, otherwise I’d kill you.”

Hesitantly, Draco cups Potter’s cheek and lets his lips stretch into a smile. “Fair enough.”

“But I swear to god, Draco, if you ever do something like that again, I—”

“I won’t,” Draco blurts. “I—No more plans.”

“Good. Because the only thing you should be planning on doing is kissing me.”

“Merlin, please don’t.”

They both turn around to Weasley, who is shielding his eyes with both of his hands.

“You better get used to it, Ron. Because we’re going to do it. A lot.”

Draco can’t help but smile as his heart starts doing several somersaults.

  
“At least wait until I’m outside,” Weasley murmurs before he stumbles towards the door.

“He’ll come around,” Potter says, his expression turning soft.

This must be a dream.

Draco closes his eyes, his entire body trembling in euphoria as Potter presses their lips together. He hears Potter mumbling something about “Could have done this two years ago”, but ignores him and simply pulls him closer.

“So,” Draco grins, “does this make me the Chosen One now?”

“Ugh, you’ve been dying to say that, haven’t you? Thin ice,” Potter says, pointing his index finger at Draco. “And I don’t like that name. We can call you the Pushy One instead.”

“Hey!”

“You don’t like it?” Potter snorts.

“Think of something else.”

“I don’t need to,” Potter says, brushing his fingers through Draco’s hair. “I know who you are. You’re the only one.”

Draco wants to make a face, but ends up grinning from ear to ear. “That’s disgusting, Potter,” he sniggers, trying to wrap his head around the fact that Potter knew all this fucking time. Maybe if Draco hadn’t been such a pessimist, he could have spared himself some trouble. But he’s always been like that. Although, he likes to call himself a realist, rather than a pessimist. And who would have thought the realistic outcome of this would be Potter, wrapped around him with apparently no plans of letting him go? Well, Potter was the unknown in this rather complicated equation and it’s only thanks to him that Draco begins to feel like maybe he should start believing the very best.


End file.
